Quotes About Sound

there is no sound in nature that makes men move along faster than the pumping of a shotgun.

the sky had cleared, and the sun swelled bright and warm in the western sky. Water from the melting snow dropped like strings of glass beads from the eaves of the house and melted holes in the snow on the ground. The sound of running water through the outside drainpipes sounded like music to Joe.

A sound that was both less and more than it had ever been before.

For the fires I brought back to life with the sound of my own voice.

Life never stops, child. Even when it's noisy, unpleasant, painful, it's still the sound of duty, of love, of family, of laws older than time that help us to ultimately find contentment- to be happy. It's the sound of our universe. It's the sound of purpose.

Well in the book Carrie was my alter ego. In real life, Sarah Jessica and I don't look anything alike. But people do say that we sound alike. Sarah Jessica is an adorable girl and she is very funny.

At the sound, XX rolls over and looks around with feral, instantly-alert eyes. He will, she imagines, never lose that habit of the palace slave.

A 'scream' is always just that - a noise and not music.

What's that sound I hear? It's just my lifetime It's whistling past my ear

The sound is clear and strong as a bell, and it fills me with joy, and it's like, for the first time in my life, I understand that this is the point of laughter, to spread happiness.

He sort of breathes music.

If you're not careful, the viola can make the most awful screech,

Willem laughs again. The sound is clear and strong as a bell, and it fills me with joy, and it's like, for the first time in my life, I understand that this is the point of laughter, to spread happiness.

voice comes out high like a girl's. I never know whether I'm going to sound like Mickey Mouse or the giant on top of the beanstalk.

Soun ys noght but eyr ybroken,And every speche that ys spoken,Lowd or pryvee, foul or fair,In his substaunce ys but air.

So was hir joly whistle wel ywet.

Oon ere it herde, at tothir out it wente.

The age of recording is necessarily an age of nostalgia--when was the past so hauntingly accessible?--but its bitterest insight is the incapacity of even the most perfectly captured sound to restore the moment of its first inscribing. That world is no longer there.

Sound is the most absorbent medium of all, soaking up histories and philosophical systems and physical surroundings and encoding them in something so slight as a single vocal quaver or icy harpsichord interjection.

Scattered among these things are reminders that sound once existed: a metronome, a drumming pad, a guitar pick, a trumpet mouthpiece, a music stand, a tuning fork, a block of rosin...The older instruments bear the marks of those who have already played them, the scuffs and bites and dents that are the mysterious scars of sound. In their midst the house hangs, tenuous and enveloping, a sounding board waiting to be struck.

I learned that the day "The Viper's Drag" slipped from between my fingers. But whatever might be lost or broken or forgotten is nothing compared to the miraculous rebirth that occurs every time the needle hits the groove. Here is Fats Waller Himself, not dead but present, so present that he overwhelms the well-ordered precincts of the living room. The sound sprawls. What vibrates here has more life than any room.

When a book and a head collide and there is a hollow sound, is it always from the book?

Whatever is reasonable is true, and whatever is true is reasonable.

Television news is akin to audible wallpaper.